


And We Only Saw Half the Ballet

by megxmas



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Dubious Consent, M/M, Slash, Stiles won't take no for an answer, Teacher Derek, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 02:53:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5440817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megxmas/pseuds/megxmas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is one of those, ‘love or hate’ kinds of students. The smart-ass, obnoxious, loud-mouthed sort of kid that a teacher will either love to teach, or hate to teach. He tends to be a hit with the older teachers and the younger teachers; the ones who are either young enough to relate to him or old enough to appreciate how different he is from the other students. It’s the ones in the middle, the ones who feel like they deserve his respect but never seem to be able to earn it, that hate him. Finstock and Harris could write sonnets about being pissed off with Stiles.</p><p>But basically, everyone has their side. Love or hate. No in-betweens. </p><p>Except for Derek. Derek’s in between. Predictably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And We Only Saw Half the Ballet

**Author's Note:**

> I am suuuuuper nervous about posting this. This is like 100% self indulgence. Teacher student things are one of my things. (Not at all blaming Mr R from A Level History). I wrote this in two different blocks of time about a month apart, so I'm unsure of two things: 1) if it at all contains a cohesive plotline and 2) how many mistakes are lurking in the depths of this story. It may well be awful, so sorry about that! I genuinely don't remember writing a fair amount of this. 
> 
> I didn't warn for everything when first posted (I suspect because I haven't read this in so long) but for full disclosure, there is dub-con, both in that Stiles is underage/a student, and that he's really insistent, and won't take no for an answer (to an extent - both parties are fully consenting, but Stiles really doesn't want to back down). If this bothers you then maybe give this story a miss?
> 
> It's also not very realistic. At all. You shouldn't actually sleep with your teachers, kids, and if you do? Probably won't go as well as depicted here. This is so beyond reality at times I'm pretty sure it's almost crack. But hey, what can you do? 
> 
> Stiles is mostly 17 here, so he's underage for various parts of the US (not the UK though, which made me feel slightly better), and he's also (if that wasn't obvious) Derek's student. I haven't checked this through thoroughly, so any mistakes are my own (if you spot any, point them out to me please? Even if it's something tiny, I'd appreciate it) 
> 
> The title is from 'Possibility Days' by Counting Crows. It's not really relevant. I just love the song.
> 
> Please enjoy!

Stiles is one of those, ‘love or hate’ kinds of students. The smart-ass, obnoxious, loud-mouthed sort of kid that a teacher will either love to teach, or hate to teach. He tends to be a hit with the older teachers and the younger teachers; the ones who are either young enough to relate to him or old enough to appreciate how different he is from the other students. It’s the ones in the middle, the ones who feel like they deserve his respect but never seem to be able to earn it, that hate him. Finstock and Harris could write sonnets about being pissed off with Stiles.

But basically, everyone has their side. Love or hate. No in-betweens.

Except for Derek. Derek’s in between. Predictably.

It’s not that Stiles is a bad kid, because he’s really not. He’s just so…Stiles. He never focuses, never tries, and it’s not that he can’t focus, because he _can._ Stiles had once written out an eight page essay in a one hour detention which set out in very great detail the origins of the myth of Hitler only having one testicle. As a historical investigation, it had been _good._ Which makes it all the more frustrating that Stiles can’t seem to make himself focus for things that actually count towards his final grades.

And even more frustrating? Stiles always does well anyway. _Always._ Derek has dedicated hours of his life to telling Stiles that he’ll never be able to reach his full potential without at least trying first, but when the end of Junior year had come round, there Stiles was, perfect GPA and smug smile. Derek had been pleased for him, because he’s not an awful person, but, god, it was so fucking _annoying._

Stiles had made his way to Derek’s classroom after the grades came out, had swaggered into the empty room and slammed the paper onto his desk. “See, Mr H? Natural fuckin’ talent.”

Derek had rolled his eyes, said, “Don’t swear, Stiles. And for the last time, it’s Mr Hale.”

Stiles had smirked, so _infuriating_. “Come find me when you’re ready to admit I’m the best fuckin’ student you’ve ever had.”

He’d turned on his heels and stalked out of the room with that same mock arrogance that he’d worn for the whole year, and it was all Derek could do to throw a weak _“Stiles,”_ after him. Derek doesn’t pretend to be the world’s best disciplinarian, but even he can admit that his annoyance is almost pathetic.

Derek supposes he should be grateful that the only real reason he ever has to punish Stiles is for stuff like swearing. But when you’re trying to teach a class of disinterested teenagers, having some kid point out when you’re making mistakes, distracting the other students, covering his desk in spit balls? It’s stuff that’s hard to punish, and it makes Derek’s life like hell, some days.

But then there’s something about Stiles that Derek just likes. He’s so blindingly clever, so goddamn funny, and he can own the room in a way that Derek reckons he’ll never be able to. He’s also sincere, earnest, really cares about his friends, and fuck if the kid hasn’t been through a lot.

It’s shit like that which puts Derek firmly in the “uhhhh, next question” category of the “so, Stilinski: heaven or hell?” answer bank. It’s a thing in the teacher’s lounge, apparently.

Which is why Derek’s so glad when the summer rolls around. As much as he loves teaching, he can’t deny how nice it is not to have to think about lessons or grading or smart-mouthed teenagers for a few months.

He gets a whole two days of peace. Two days. That’s all. It’s basically a weekend. It’s just not _fair._

When Derek’s on vacation, he likes to treat himself. He’s human, okay? Instead of pouring brown sticks into a bowl with milk in the morning, three times a week he strolls up to the diner three minutes from his house and starts his day with a nice cooked breakfast. Because he works hard and he deserves nice things. And this diner, for the last four years, has done him the best summer vacation breakfasts that money can buy. It’s not even expensive. It’s _glorious._

Which is why he’s so freaking annoyed when he pushes open the door to JJ’s and finds Stiles Stilinski standing behind the counter, looking like all his Christmases have come at once.

“Yo, Mr H! Fancy seeing you here!” he calls out with a wave, and Derek sighs as he steps up to him and sits at his regular place.

“Am I having a nightmare right now? Is this a nightmare?”

Stiles does that smirk again, and Derek scowls, feeling like something bad is coming. “Come on, teach, I know this is a dream come true for you.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Sure.”

“Now, what’ll you be having?”

Derek sighs, accepts his fate, decides he’ll sit at a booth next time, and says, “Bacon, scrambled eggs, sausage and black coffee.”

Stiles full on beams as he finishes writing down the order and turns away saying, “Damn, woulda had you pegged for a vegetarian.” Derek lets out a laugh without thinking, tries to fake it into a cough when he sees Stiles turn back slightly, amused. Derek sees him quirk an eyebrow, and he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, trying desperately to avoid eye contact.

Derek readies himself for awkward questions and stilted conversation, but then another customer takes Stiles’ attention, and Derek lets out a breath. It starts to get busier around him, and Stiles doesn’t end up having enough time to pester Derek. He drops off his food with a “there ya go, Mr H! Enjoy!”, and picks up his money with a “Thanks kindly, teach!” Derek maybe tips more than necessary. It’s not important.

Derek spends the next few days, reading, working out, watching TV, and deciding whether or not he should go back to JJ’s for his breakfasts. Stiles wasn’t a bad server, he did everything right. But seeing him every few days for the whole summer would either give Derek an aneurysm or drive him insane. The summer vacation is for avoiding teenagers, not willingly spending time with them.

But then, the nearest diner after JJ’s that’s even remotely good is a twenty minute drive away, and Derek doesn’t want to drive in the mornings, particularly. Likes the fresh air. And he sure as hell ain’t walking that far.

Besides, it would be rude to JJ’s, wouldn’t it? They’d done nothing wrong, just hired some kid for the summer to help out. He’d been going there for years – it would be weird if he stopped now, right?

Which is why, two days after his first visit, he strolls back in to JJ’s at 9am to see Stiles’ shit-eating grin.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite teacher, back again! How are you doing today?”

Derek gives him a small smile, and sinks into his regular seat before he realises that he was supposed to sit in the booth today to avoid awkward conversation. “I’m okay, Stiles. How are you?”

“Hungover as hell and feeling like death, but could be worse.”

Derek sighs. “You shouldn’t really tell me that sort of thing, Stiles.”

Stiles shrugs. “What are you gonna do? You’re not a cop.”

“I could tell your dad. The sheriff.”

Stiles smirks, leans onto the counter across from Derek, and says, “You could. But you won’t.”

“How are you so sure?”

“You like me too much to get me into trouble.”

Derek laughs. “I seem to remember not caring about you getting into trouble a lot this year.”

Stiles shrugs, pulls back, pulls out his pencil and pad. “So tell him. Now, what will you be having?”

Derek orders the same as he had before, as he always does, and Stiles sends him a mock salute before wandering off. Derek looks around him, tries to see if there’s a spare booth for him to sit in, but he’s left it too long and there’s no space anymore. He sighs, settles more into his seat and pulls out his phone, an easy shield against awkwardness.

He taps out a message to Laura. **_The Stilinski kid is working at JJ’s. I can’t escape these kids._**

It takes half a minute for a reply to come back, and thankfully Stiles is still busy somewhere else. **_You’re a teacher. You’re supposed to like your students dummy._**

 ** _Nope, not in the contract,_** Derek replies, before there’s a plate being pushed in front of him and the smuggest looking face Derek’s ever seen is watching him gleefully.

“Dude, your phone is so _old!”_

Derek puts it down beside him and pulls the plate close, picking up his knife and fork. “It’s practical,” he replies, “and don’t call me dude.”

Stiles snorts. “I know teachers don’t make a lot but, come on, _I_ can afford a better phone that that hunk o’ junk. And I work _here.”_ He gestures around him comically, and it’s all Derek can do to stop his eyes rolling back into his head.

“I don’t need a better phone. This is fine.”

It buzzes beside him then, and Derek sees Stiles’ eyes flicker to the screen, ‘Laura’ popping up bright and clear.

He snatches it up quickly, although he’s not sure why, and he opens the message, a short **_Ur so dumb sometimes._** He closes it without replying, not really sure what she means.

“Girlfriend?” Stiles asks, as Derek resumes cutting his bacon.

Derek shakes his head. “Sister.”

Stiles nods, and then there’s another customer moving into the seat beside Derek, and Stiles shifts his attention to her quickly.

It relaxes after that. Stiles doesn’t have the time to stop and chat, flits his way from customer to customer with a practised ease that means either he’s been working here longer than a few days, or that he just picks things up really quickly. He sends Derek smiles when he walks past him, ones that it would be impolite for Derek not to return, and when Derek tries to give him his tip, he shakes his head and pushes it away. “You tipped way too much last time, old man. You’re good for another three breakfasts. I’m guessing this is why you teach history and not math.”

Derek rolls his eyes, says, “Don’t call me old man,” but he rises without tipping Stiles. He spends a few moments fiddling with his phone while Stiles takes his plate and says, “See ya soon, Mr H! Good talking with you!” and when he’s moved off, Derek slips the tip under his empty mug. It’s still too much, but Derek has too much money anyway.

-

By the end of the week, Derek’s sick of the sight of his own house. Long vacations are great and all, but only when you’ve got family, or friends, or any kind of life outside of school. For Derek, who doesn’t really have much of any of those, just going out to JJ’s and on runs isn’t really enough. There’s a book he’s been really trying to get into, and the walls feel like they’re closing in, so he takes it to the diner in the morning and opens it after Stiles has put his food in front of him.

“Dude, is this your life? Coming here and reading books all summer?”

Derek rolls his eyes and closes his book, begrudgingly. “Don’t call me dude. And what’s wrong with coming here and reading?”

Stiles holds up his hands in a defensive gesture, and says, “I ain’t judging! It’s just not very exciting, is all.”

Derek shrugs. “I’ve had enough excitement for one life, I think.” He picks up his book again, content with the fact that his answer might baffle Stiles, and he scoops up some egg with a fork.

Stiles snorts. “Okay, I’m absolutely going to find out what you mean by that.”

Derek smirks, not taking his eyes from the page. “Good luck with that.”

-

Stiles manages to ambush Derek before he’s even sat down when he comes in three days later. “Dude, you have to stop tipping me so much.”

Derek’s eyebrows knit together in confusion as he gets into his seat. “That’s a really weird thing to complain about. And don’t-“

“Call you dude, yeah, I know.” Stiles sighs. “My boss thinks I’m either stealing from you or sleeping with you.”

Derek’s eyes widen, and he can feel his face start to burn red.

Stiles nods. “I know. Because why else would you tip ten dollars for a four dollar bill?”

Derek squirms uncomfortably in his seat. “Right. Sorry. Won’t happen again.”

Stiles deflates a little, rests his hands against the counter. “Why do you tip so much?”

Derek shrugs, because, okay, he’s not really sure. He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, manages to come up with a lie at a pace even he’s impressed with. “My sister used to work in a diner, never got any good tips, got treated like crap. It’s just something I do.”

It does the trick, because Stiles gives a small smile in reply, like he’s suddenly really happy and doesn’t want anyone to know. They’re both silent for a moment, before Stiles says, “You shouldn’t swear, Mr H.”

Derek laughs, because of course he does, and says, “We’re not in school, Stiles.”

“Oh, trust me, I know. It’s so weird seeing you in normal people clothes, not looking angry all the time.”

Derek scoffs. “I do not look angry all the time!” He pauses. “And I wear normal people clothes at school, too.”

Stiles smiles, and says, “Sure, you keep telling yourself that, teach.” Derek rolls his eyes. “The usual?”

Derek nods and Stiles moves away, and when Derek leaves forty minutes later, he only leaves a two dollar tip.

-

The next time Derek’s at the diner, Stiles says, “A fifty percent tip is still pretty generous, you know. I mean, this money is great for my college fund, but I’d feel kind of bad if you ended up broke by the end of summer.”

“If I couldn’t afford it I wouldn’t pay it,” is all Derek says in reply, and Stiles rolls his eyes and drops his rag onto the counter.

“So what, are you a secret millionaire or something?”

Derek’s not, obviously, but he makes the mistake of hesitating long enough for Stiles to latch onto the thought.

“Holy shit, are you? Really? Dude, why are you teaching?”

Derek opens his mouth to protest, but Stiles goes on. “Don’t tell me you actually enjoy teaching. There’s no way you’d be teaching if you were a billionaire.”

“I thought I was a millionaire?”

Stiles waves his hand nonchalantly. “Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.” He enunciates every syllable, and Derek rolls his eyes.

“I’m not a millionaire. Or-“ he holds up a hand to stop what he knows Stiles is about to say. “-a billionaire. I just don’t spend much money, so I have some to spare.”

Stiles snorts. “Right, which you just like to use to make your students’ bosses think you’re sleeping with them.”

Derek takes a sip of coffee, before nodding. “Apparently.”

Stiles makes a face of approval, and leans against the counter, face dipping nearer to Derek’s. Derek pulls back, because he can almost feel Stiles’ soft breath against his cheek, and even if Stiles wasn’t one of his students, it would be inappropriate.

“So, how’s the summer treating you?”

Derek quirks an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be serving the other customers?”

Stiles smiles in amusement, looks around him exaggeratedly, before facing Derek again and saying, “What other customers?”

Derek looks around and, oh, right. There’s maybe two other people in the diner, and they’re both being served by someone else.

Derek sighs. “It’s all right,” he relents, pushing his eggs around on his plate. “Bit boring.” He looks up to Stiles. “You?” He tells himself that he doesn’t really care, that it’s only polite to ask. He ignores the voice in his head that says otherwise.

“You’re looking at my summer, buddy,” he says. “Diner days and video game nights.”

Derek snorts. “And you thought my summer wasn’t exciting.”

“Video games are more exciting than books.”

“Barely.”

“Besides, I’m getting paid for this.”

”Mostly by me, apparently.”

Stiles laughs, a full on belly laugh that makes him throw his head back, and Derek hadn’t realised that it would make him feel that happy, making someone else laugh like that.

When Stiles stops laughing, which, really, isn’t that long after he started, he says, “That’s true! Man, I forgot how funny you can be.” When he sees Derek’s eyebrows pull together at that, he follows quickly with, “No no, not like that! You’re just so serious around finals, it kinda makes me forget how you are the rest of the year.”

Which, okay. Sure. Derek’s honestly surprised Stiles has found him funny at all, but it’s nice to know that he is. And that Stiles doesn’t want to hurt Derek’s feelings by implying that he’s not usually funny.

Derek shrugs. “You don’t make teaching easy round finals, you know.”

Stiles bites his lip, and says, “Yeah, right. Sorry about that. I’m easily distracted.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I know, Stiles. I’ve been teaching you for two years.”

It’s Stiles’ turn to look embarrassed, then, as he scratches the back of his neck. “Again. Sorry.”

Derek waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’m used to you.”

Stiles smiles then, and Derek doesn’t know what to make of it. But then there’s another customer walking in and Stiles pulls away reluctantly, making nice with this new guy like he’s spent his whole life talking to customers.

Derek smiles and goes back to his eggs.

-

The thing about the diner being such neutral ground, is that, occasionally, Derek will find himself completely forgetting that Stiles is his student. He thinks Stiles might have matured a little since the end of the semester, because there’s something so grown up about the way he talks, the way he walks, the way he acts like he’s talking to an old friend, and not his history teacher.

They get into a heated debate about the right and wrong ways of talking about the holocaust, one morning, and Stiles is so informed, so eloquent, so _enthralling_ to watch, that Derek has to give himself a moment to appreciate that, not only is Stiles shaping up to be a decent young man, but maybe that Derek is a better teacher than he’d originally thought.

He watches Stiles’ hands fly about in the air as he’s speaking, can see color rise in his cheeks as he’s getting more and more into the conversation. Derek doesn’t even register when Stiles stops talking, has to have Stiles’ hand wave in his face and say, “Yo, Mr H, you in there? Was I just talking to myself, there?”

He mentally shakes himself off and comes back with his counter-argument, and it makes Stiles grin. It’s a good debate, and they don’t agree, but there are no hard feelings at the end, and they both walk away a little wiser and a little lighter.

-

After about three weeks, Stiles starts talking about colleges, and Derek has to remind himself that this is his seventeen year old student, and not his friend from the diner.

Stiles tells Derek that he’s interested in staying in California, wants to be close to his dad, and that he wouldn’t mind going to Beacon Hills Community College if it meant he could keep an eye on him.

Derek does a sort of double take at that, and to an outsider, his wide eyes must look impossibly comical. “You’re not serious,” he says.

Stiles shrugs. “He doesn’t do too great when he’s on his own. I don’t want a repeat of what happened after mom died.”

Derek’s quiet for a few moments, doesn’t know how to put what he wants to say into words properly. “You’re too smart for the Community College. You know you are. It would be a total waste for you not to go to a great college. There are good schools in California that aren’t too far from here.” Derek knows Stiles is doing the typical ‘I’m not listening’ face, but he hopes something is getting through. “And your dad isn’t your responsibility. He wouldn’t want you to stay here just for him. He’ll be okay with you going a few hours away for school. You wouldn’t _die.”_ When Stiles doesn’t say anything in reply, just watches him curiously, Derek adds, “Have you thought about Stanford?”

Stiles snorts, tearing his gaze away from Derek and onto some random spot behind him. “Yeah, right, and pigs might fly.”

“I’m serious. You’re easily smart enough. Could maybe get a scholarship or something, if you put your mind to it.”

Stiles’ eye are back on him again, that unreadable expression making Derek squirm in his seat.

“Wow, Mr H,” Stiles says, eventually. “And there I was thinking you hated me.”

Derek furrows his brow, because Stiles was annoying sometimes, sure, but Derek would have hoped that he’d never given off the ‘hatred’ vibe. “Jeez, Stiles, I’ve never hated you. Been annoyed by you, sure, but I think the number of people who fall into that category is pretty big.”

Stiles laughs, and says, “My dad always told me I could annoy the dead if I talked loud enough. It was like my thing, I almost took pride in annoying people. Got them to notice me, at least.” His smile fades a little, but doesn’t disappear. “After my mom died I’d go to her grave every Saturday and talk as loudly as I could to see if I could annoy her.”

He’s still smiling, but Derek feels awful all of a sudden. Stiles must be able to feel the change in tension, because he says, “Sorry, kind of a mood killer.”

Derek shakes his head. “It’s okay, seriously. And I’m sure you managed to annoy her plenty.”

Stiles smiles widely, then, and says, “It was all just practice for when I would meet the person I wanted to annoy the most, obviously.”

Derek thinks for a moment. “Jackson Whittemore?”

Stiles rolls his eyes as he pulls away Derek’s empty plate. “You, dummy.”

And, oh. Okay.

-

About a week later, Derek gets a call from Laura as he’s coming back from the diner, which he answers tentatively, because Laura never calls, has always preferred to text.

 _“Hey, Derek,”_ she says, and Derek can feel that she’s scared about what she has to tell him.

“What’s the bad news, Laura?”

She takes a deep breath before answering. _“Kate’s parole hearing was today. She’s been given early release.”_

Derek’s quiet for a full minute before he can even register what he’s just heard well enough to respond. All that actually comes out, in the end, is an “Oh. Well.”

_“God, Derek, this is such shit, I know. Are you okay? Are you gonna be okay?”_

Derek’s not sure, but says, “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” anyway.

_“Is there anyone there you can talk to? I can come down and stay for the weekend?”_

Derek shakes his head, even though Laura can’t see him, and he says, “I’m okay. I have someone I can talk to.”

He thinks of Stiles, his bright smile and his easy humor, and it might not be what Laura means, but it’s something.

-

Derek can’t actually tell Stiles about his crazy ex, of course, but even just being in his company is enough to distract him from that part of his life. When he’s talking to Stiles about nothing in particular, it makes no difference that Kate’s out in the world, ready and able to destroy him again. All that’s important is talking about cultural appropriation in mainstream media, in finding out how Stiles’ dad is doing, what Stiles is thinking about college.

He starts going to the diner every morning, stays for longer and orders more food. It’s doing nothing for his fitness regime, and he’s having to spend longer working out, but boy it makes his life so much nicer to live.

Until Stiles, perceptive as he’s always been, mentions that he’s been coming in every day, and asks, “How come?”

Derek shrugs, and says, “Cereal gets boring.”

Stiles snorts. “Dude, so do bacon and eggs. Trust me.”

Derek smiles, but doesn’t say anything, so Stiles continues. “You don’t have to tell me, obviously, but my boss still isn’t convinced we’re not sleeping together.”

Derek sighs. “It’s just, personal stuff. Something’s come up, that’s all.”

“Did you break up with your girlfriend?” There’s a smirk on Stiles’ face, one that says ‘I can make this into a joke we can forget about, if you like.’

“No, Stiles, I did not, because I do not have a girlfriend.”

“Right.” Stiles leans forward. “Boyfriend?”

_“Stiles.”_

Stiles raises his hands in an all too familiar defensive gesture, and says, “Just covering my bases, man. Whatever way you live your life is fine with me.”

Derek’s mouth quirks. “I didn’t realise I needed permission from you about those sorts of things.”

Stiles nods solemnly. “Well, now you know. I expect to receive all future requests for permission by fax, from now on.”

“Would you also like to move to the eighties?”

“Ah, yes, well all requests will have to be sent to the past, of course. But that’s pretty common with these sorts of situations.”

“I’m all too aware.”

And they’re both laughing, then, and Kate doesn’t really matter at that moment. Even after everything, Derek can laugh with Stiles and forget about the woman who tore everything down. As Stiles’ laugh rings through his ears, he starts to feel something rebuilding.

-

Something changes after that, something Derek can’t quite put his finger on. When he goes to the diner, he’s actually looking forward to it; it holds an easy familiarity now, like meeting with an old friend.

Stiles is always there when he arrives, somehow always managing to look cheerful, and Derek needs to find out what it is that makes him so damn happy, because, hell, wouldn’t that be useful on a Monday morning.

Derek slides into his seat, smiles, and orders the usual. And when Stiles has the time, when the diner’s quiet and he can rest against the counter with the casual swagger that Derek’s used to from him, they talk.

They don’t talk about much, not really. Stiles’ work, Derek’s summer, their friends, family, things they do, films they watch. It’s everyday chit-chat, something most people wouldn’t even bat an eyelid at. But Derek’s never really made many friends in Beacon Hills. Coming back had been such a monumental thing in the first place that, when he’d arrived, he’d put all of his energy into just dealing with that. School had always kept him busy, and he’d always been able to make his summers go by with just his hobbies. He supposes it was because he was newer to teaching – going to school could be so overwhelming and exciting, sometimes, that those weeks off never really became a chore.

He has Laura, sometimes Boyd comes to visit. For a while, it had been enough. After Kate, Derek had kind of retreated into himself. He had never been particularly sociable, but after everything, he wasn’t particularly interested in going out and seeing people. He was safer inside his own house, in his own head.

It had worked for years, his semi-seclusion. When he started teaching, it was his way of coming out of his shell, of interacting more, and it was enough. It made Laura happy to see Derek going out more, and it made Derek happy to see Laura happy.

He can remember sitting with her the night before his first day of teaching, sipping wine to calm his nerves, and she’d wrapped an arm around his neck and held him close, and said, “I’m so proud of you. So, so, proud.”

He’d pushed away, embarrassed, mumbled “Shu’up,” but she’d laughed and ruffled his hair, and things were good. For years, things were good.

Derek reckons Stiles is the first friend he’s made since before Kate. First proper friend, not a work friend or one of Laura’s or Boyd’s.

Which, okay, might be a problem. Teachers aren’t supposed to be friends with their students. They should be friend _ly,_ but not _friends._

And when Derek’s sitting in that diner, talking to Stiles about everything and nothing, they’re friends. It’s weird that Stiles still calls Derek ‘Mr H,’ or ‘teach’, but Derek supposes it’s better than ‘Mr Hale’, or, god forbid, ‘sir’.

But he honestly cares about Stiles, more than in a pastoral way. When Stiles is telling him about not being able to complete some level on his video game, or about trying to force feed his father salad, Derek _cares._

Derek thinks Stiles might care about him, too. He always asks Derek questions, ones that don’t probe into his personal life, so Derek doesn’t think that he’s just trying to dig up dirt on him. Besides, Stiles has never been that sort of kid. He’s a nuisance, sometimes, but he’s not _mean._

Derek digs out some information on Stanford and gives it to Stiles one morning. He looks down at the brochure with wide eyes, then looks at Derek, carefully. “Dude, I don’t think it’s going to happen.” He pushes it back across the counter. “Thanks, though.”

Derek sighs as he drops into his seat. “Stiles, why are you so convinced that you’re not good enough for Stanford?”

Stiles wipes down something from the counter, and says, “You know as well as anyone that I’m no good at focusing. Even if I got in, what would I do when I got there? College professors don’t put up with the same shit you do.”

Derek thinks. “Firstly,” he holds up a finger, “they do. College kids are the worst, because if they don’t do the work, there aren’t consequences. Professors put up with all kinds of shit. Secondly,” a second finger, “You won’t be the first kid going there with ADD. They’ll know all sorts of stuff about helping you focus and getting work done on time. And thirdly,” a final finger, “You’ve been about ten times more focused in the last year than you have since you started high school. I know it’s hard to believe, but seriously, you are. You’ll be fine. In fact, you’ll be better than fine. You’ll be great.”

Stiles is frozen, eyes boring into Derek’s with an intensity Derek’s not used to. After a few moments, Derek says, “Okay, I think this is the longest you’ve been quiet, ever.”

Stiles smiles then, just a little, and says, “Sorry. Just a little taken aback.”

“Why?”

“I think you might be the first teacher who’s ever actually had faith in me. Not pretend ‘we gotta be nice to the fucked up kid with the sheriff for a father’, but actual, real faith.”

It makes Derek smile. “Everyone has faith in you, they might just have a hard time showing it.”

“No, they don’t, and I can’t blame them. But it means a lot that you do.”

“So, you’ll think about Stanford?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Yeah, dummy, I’ll think about Stanford.”

-

One day he gets back from the diner to find Laura leaning against the hood of her car. “Hey Der-Bear,” she says, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Laura!” Derek laughs, squeezing her gently before releasing her. “What are you doing here?”

“I need an excuse to come see my baby brother?” she asks as he unlocks the front door and leads her through to the living room.

“Not at all, but normally you don’t even try.”

She sits on the couch and Derek ducks into the kitchen to grab some water for them both. When he gets back she’s rifling through the college brochures he’d left on his coffee table, and she raises an eyebrow at him. “Thinking of changing careers?”

Derek shakes his head as he sits. “It’s for a student, he needed some help picking colleges.”

“It’s the middle of summer, how are you even getting these to him?”

Derek takes a sip of water. “It’s Stiles, from the diner, remember?”

Realisation dawns on Laura’s face as she says, “Oh, right. Do you see him a lot then?”

Derek nods. “Almost every day.”

“I thought you only went a few times a week.”

Her gaze is locked on him, and he squirms uncomfortably. “I did. But after I heard about Kate I wanted to be out of the house more.”

She nods, then says, “Actually, there was something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Derek points a triumphant finger at her, glad the topic’s changed. “I knew you had an agenda!”

She smiles sadly at him, and Derek feels his stomach start to tie itself in knots. “What is it?” he asks, cautiously.

She takes a breath. “Kate’s moving to California. Not close, but she’s in the state. Also, don’t read anything she says about you in the papers. She’s given a couple of interviews and she’s being completely psychotic about everything.”

Derek takes a breath, lets it sink in slowly. “Okay,” he says, eventually. “Okay. That’s not so bad.”

Laura eyes him curiously. “I’d have expected you to freak out by now, are you okay?”

Derek nods. “Yeah, I think I am. I mean, she’s not in Beacon Hills, right? She’s not actually coming back?”

Laura shakes her head. “No, that wouldn’t be allowed. But what about the newspapers?”

Derek thinks for a moment then says, “I’ll tell the school to be on the ready for some kind of defence, but it’ll be fine, right? Nothing she’s saying is true.”

Laura nods, puts her glass on the table and reaches her arms around Derek’s neck. “How are you so calm about all of this?” she asks as she pulls away.

Derek shrugs. “I don’t know. I think maybe I’ve moved on, somehow.”

Her eyes bulge with amazement, as she says, “Oh my god, you’ve met someone.”

Derek jerks back. “What? No!”

Laura smirks at him. “You have met someone. You just don’t know it yet.”

“That makes no sense. You know that makes no sense.”

She shrugs. “It will do, I think.”

He rolls his eyes, because that’s really all he can do, and then she adds, “When you’ve figured out who she is, let me know. Or he, I’m not a judger!”

-

Derek goes into the diner the next morning, gets into his seat, looks at Stiles, and thinks, ‘Oh, _fuck.’_

-

Derek has been in so much denial. So, so much. He’d spent so long trying to convince himself that being friends with Stiles was fine that he’d completely missed that he was falling for him.

And this is so far from even possibly okay that Derek thinks he might collapse just from thinking about it. This is so many shades of wrong, so completely fucked up, and still, Derek can’t help it.

And now? Now that he’s noticed how he feels? Now his mind starts to wander when he’s with Stiles. Starts to imagine spending time with him in other ways, imagining how his hair looks first thing in the morning, how he smiles when he’s sleepy, how his lips taste in the middle of the night.

Stiles is _seventeen._ And Derek’s _disgusting._

The day after his big realisation, when he’s watching Stiles flit behind the counter from customer to customer, Derek tries desperately not to pay attention to the arch of his biceps beneath his shirt, to watch the way a sliver of skin is revealed as he scratches at his head, tries not to get lost in that gold hazel of his eyes. It’s a lost cause, and Derek feels himself slipping.

When he goes home afterwards, he resolves to not go back to JJ’s for the rest of the summer. He thinks, maybe, if he’s lucky, this is the sort of thing that will go away with enough separation.

It’s because Stiles isn’t really a kid, anymore. He’s all fully-grown masculinity, strong and lean, head and body both old beyond their years. At least, that’s what Derek tells himself it is. Just to try to remove the feeling of guilt that clings to him when he thinks about being in love with a minor. Not just a minor: his _student._

He manages a full six days, stays holed up at his house with cereal and supermarket bacon, and it’s nowhere near as good as sitting with Stiles at JJ’s, but he feels better about himself. He’s taking positive steps to keep him and Stiles apart, and that’s good. They’ve got three weeks before the next year starts, and that’s enough to get over this.

And then on Saturday, at about 3pm, he’s padding around the kitchen in his pyjamas when there’s a knock at the door, and his senses prickle, because Laura’s the only one who visits, and she’s at some conference in Florida, completely unaware of Derek’s crisis.

He steps carefully to the door and opens it slowly, peeking round the side. His heart nearly stops.

“Stiles?” he asks, like it’s not obviously him standing on his front step.

Stiles gives him a small smile, _that_ small smile, and Derek feels his heart melt. He’d been doing so well, could go for ages without letting his thoughts drift to whether or not Stiles has moles on any places other than his face.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, and he waves his hand a little. “You haven’t been in for ages, and I was worried you’d died or something. So I thought I’d check that you were okay.”

Derek nods in understanding, his mind racing. “How did you know where I live?”

Stiles rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed, and says, “I, uh, may have taken advantage of my police contacts for that.”

_“Stiles.”_

“Dude, I know, but I was worried!”

Derek runs a hand across his face, desperate to escape. “That’s so illegal. And this is so inappropriate.”

When Derek pulls his hand away, Stiles is looking at him with an expression of such sadness that Derek’s heart aches to reach out and reassure him, but no, he’s doing the right thing.

Stiles hardens his expression, and says, “So why did you stop coming to JJ’s?”

Derek coughs. “I was spending too much money, I guess.”

Stiles smirks. “Shouldn’t have tipped so much.”

And god, Derek is _gone._ He smiles despite himself, says, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t think you’d care so much.”

Stiles shrugs. “Yeah. Well. I do. Obviously.” He stops for a moment, thinking, and then says, “I get an employee discount, like, twenty-five percent. You could use it, even if you only came like once a week.”

Derek’s no saint. He can’t resist Stiles’ hopeful eyes. Once a week won’t hurt, right? There’s only three weeks left. He nods, says, “Sure, I think I can do that.”

Stiles’ beam is blinding, and Derek’s heart puffs in his chest, a proud beat that sends shivers to the tips of his fingers. “Great. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Derek nods again, and then Stiles is turning away, waving a hand goodbye. Derek closes the door behind him and leans his back against it. Dear _god._

-

Stiles is so happy to see him on the next day, and it feels so easy and natural to go back to how they were that Derek’s tempted, for a second, to damn the rules and damn the consequences and give Stiles everything he wants to.

But Derek lives in the real world, and that can’t happen. Not in a million years. He keeps the conversation civil, doesn’t reveal any information or dig into Stiles’ life. It’s all perfectly above board. And if Stiles can sense any change in the way Derek’s acting, then he doesn’t let on. Just keeps on chatting excitedly and pulling Derek apart.

Derek goes home feeling lighter than he has all week, and he knows this is a problem, that he’s not going to be able to get over it by the time they go back to school. All the same, he figures he can get through a year. One year, and Stiles will go to college, and he won’t have to worry about it anymore. Easy.

He tries to ignore the way it feels like acid’s burning through his stomach when he thinks about it.

-

He dutifully doesn’t go back to the diner until the next Sunday, but when he gets there, Stiles isn’t, and his insides drop. A pretty blonde girl serves him, and he asks her, “Is Stiles not here today?”

She shakes her head sadly, and says, “No, sorry. Something happened with his dad and he wasn’t able to come in.”

Derek doesn’t leave immediately, because that would look strange, but when he gets home he spends the day pacing around, trying to figure out if he can realistically do anything to help. He doesn’t know where they live, doesn’t know what’s happened, and it would be so wildly inappropriate if he even tried to do anything that in the end, he resolves to just worry about it by himself.

He pours himself a glass of wine at around eleven pm, and as he takes his first sip, there’s a sharp knock at the door.

The really awful part of him is praying that it’s Stiles on the other side of the door, while the other is desperate that it isn’t. It is Stiles, of course. Because it always is.

The rain’s coming down hard, and he’s completely soaked to the bone, arms wrapped around himself and skin deathly pale. Derek takes one look at him and takes a hold of his arm, drawing him into the house and shutting the door quickly.

“Stiles? What’s going on? What’s happened?”

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, I know this isn’t right, but I didn’t know where else to go.”

Derek’s mind races with a thousand possibilities as he pushes Stiles in the direction of the living room, letting him sit on the couch. Derek sits on the coffee table in front of him, holds onto his forearms gently. “What happened?”

Stiles takes in a deep breath, and says, “My dad got shot.” Derek’s breath catches, and Stiles shakes his head a little. “It’s okay, he’s okay. But it happened in our house, and I’m not allowed back there, and he’s at the hospital and Scott and his mom are on holiday, and all I could think about was coming here.”

Derek’s staring at him, he knows. “Okay. Okay, that’s fine,” he says, because what else can he do? Even if he wasn’t in love with Stiles, no teacher would just turn away their student in a time like this.

He stands up and says, “I’m going to grab you a towel or something, you should take your coat off. Do you have anything?”

Stiles shakes his head, and Derek’s mind races at the thought of Stiles wearing his clothes. He pushes the thought away, because those kinds of thoughts are never good, but now? So much worse.

“I’ll see if I have anything. You can have a shower in a second.”

Stiles nods gratefully and Derek moves off up the stairs. He rifles through his wardrobe, pulls out some sweats that have always been too small and an old hoodie, and on his way down the hall grabs a fluffy towel from the linen closet.

Stiles accepts the clothes with a grateful smile, and Derek points him to the bathroom. When he’s at the door, Stiles turns back and says, “Thanks, Mr H.”

As he pushes on the handle, something works inside Derek and forces him to say, “Stiles,” without really knowing what he wants to tell him. When Stiles looks back, all Derek can bring himself to say is a choked out, “Call me Derek.”

Stiles smiles again as he nods, and says, “Thanks, Derek,” and god, Derek did not need to know how his name sounded being said by Stiles. He’s not sure why he said it in the first place. The shift in their relationship that began at the beginning of summer was undeniable, but it was wrong, and Derek shouldn’t be enabling it.

-

Stiles isn’t long in the shower, maybe ten minutes or so, but when he comes out, it’s like he’s scrubbed years of anxiety and stress off of him. He looks calmer, happier, and he accepts the mug of hot cocoa Derek holds out for him with a smile.

“So what happened with your dad?” Derek asks, hip leaning against the kitchen counter, hands around his own mug of coffee. Remembering himself, he adds, “Only if you want to talk about it, of course.”

Stiles shakes his head. “It’s fine, he’s fine, honestly. Some drugs thing that got blown way out of proportion, I don’t even think it was anything more serious than weed. But some guys came to our house at like two am last night, and when dad opened the door, shot him twice and ran.” Stiles lets his eyes rest closed briefly, and Derek wants to reach out a hand to reassure him. He doesn’t. “I called an ambulance, and he had a punctured lung, but nothing worse. He went into surgery and he’s woken up, but forensics are still doing their thing at the house.” He shrugs, the vulnerability covered once again with feigned nonchalance.

“And what about you?” Derek asks.

Stiles furrows his brow. “The guys never even got close to me.”

Derek shakes his head. “No, but how are you feeling about everything?”

Stiles sighs and takes a sip from his mug. “Kinda shaken, I guess? Like, he could’ve died, died while I was upstairs and-“ he breaks off then, lets out a sound almost like a sob, and brings a hand up to his mouth.

Derek moves on instinct, can’t bring himself to think how inappropriate what he’s doing is, as he puts his own mug down, pulls Stiles’ from his fingers and puts it down next to his, and draws Stiles into a hug.

Stiles’ arms come to wrap around him immediately, holding him tight, heads resting on each other’s shoulders. It’s the first time Derek’s ever been so confronted with the fact that they’re the same height, that Stiles is nearly taller than him. It’s this that he focuses on as he rubs soothing circles on Stiles’ back, not the firm press of Stiles’ body against his, or how soft his skin is beneath his cheek, or how well their forms fit against one another.

Stiles isn’t sobbing into his shoulder, is just breathing, in, out, in, out, and Derek can feel his heartbeat calm where it had been pounding against his rib cage.

They stay like that for a minute or so, Derek holding Stiles together, Stiles’ hot breath coming out in puffs against his neck. Stiles pulls back, pulling his hands along Derek’s back and resting them on his waist. Derek drops one hand to his side, and braces the other against Stiles’ shoulder. He gives it a squeeze, one he hopes is reassuring, and Stiles’ face lifts up to look Derek in the eyes. The sorrow is mostly gone, replaced by some sort of calm hope. Derek wonders what his own face looks like. He feels like his heart is dancing; he doesn’t know what that would look like.

They’re too close together, breath mixing, noses almost touching. This is dangerous, Derek knows it is. He knows what’s about to happen, but it doesn’t make him pull away. He keeps still even as Stiles leans in, even as he presses tentative lips to Derek’s. His hand tightens on Stiles’ shoulder instinctively, his other hand lifting slightly to graze Stiles’ hip.

Derek still doesn’t pull back as Stiles’ own grip tightens on him, doesn’t pull back as Stiles grows bolder, braver. His lips move, slightly, and Derek responds in kind, because this is Stiles, and Derek should know better, he really should, but this is everything he didn’t know he wanted for so long.

It’s a light, innocent kiss, there’s barely any heat to it. But when Stiles lets his lips part and dips his tongue out to taste Derek, _that’s_ when Derek pulls away, stepping back until there’s a good distance between them.

Stiles’ hands clench at his sides and Derek crosses his arms across his chest, as he ignores Stiles’ heavy breathing and begins to speak. “Stiles, I…you shouldn’t…we can’t-“

And then Stiles is back in front of him, reaching up to cup Derek’s face in his hands, mouth hot and insistent. Derek braces his hands on Stiles’ shoulders and pushes him away, says, “Stiles, no, okay? We can’t.”

Stiles flushes red, brings his hand to his neck in that familiar gesture, and says, “Right, sorry. Just, um, thought we were on the same page.”

He turns away, steps back towards the living room, and Derek runs a hand over his face. He wants to tell Stiles the truth, that they _are_ on the same page, but that they _can’t be._

Instead, he says, “You can take my bed, I’ll take the couch.”

Stiles glances back over his shoulder, doesn’t meet his eyes, and says, “Thanks, Mr H.”

-

Derek glances at his phone when he wakes up, and, seeing that it’s half three in the morning, he gets up to investigate what it was that woke him.

The kitchen light’s off, but there’s movement in there, and when he steps inside, he can make out the silhouette of Stiles.

“Sorry,” he says, quiet and stilted. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s fine,” Derek replies, flicking on the light. “Are you okay?”

Stiles winces against the sudden light, but nods, and holds up the glass in his hand. “Just wanted some water.” Derek nods, and then Stiles looks down to the floor. “I was wondering if you could forget what happened earlier? I’m super embarrassed, and if you could just-“

“It’s not,” Derek interrupts, “that I don’t want-I _can’t, Stiles._ You know that.”

Stiles is watching him with wide eyes, puts the glass down, steps forward, and says, “Why not?”

Derek sighs. “Because you’re seventeen. Because you’re my student. Because you’re scared and lonely and vulnerable and it would be so, so wrong.”

Stiles nods. “I know. Okay, I know. I know we’d get in trouble, I know everyone would think you were taking advantage. And if you say no, then I’ll take that. But I know how I feel, and if you feel the same way, then I think we could really have something. And I think you know it too.”

Derek shakes his head. “I could lose my job, I could go to _prison-“_

“I know. Which is why I won’t push.”

And Stiles is watching him so earnestly, gaze so open and eyes so trusting, and Derek’s reminded of all the times he’s sat with him and talked with him and felt that he was more grown up than everyone thinks. And Stiles isn’t going to tell anyone, says he wants this too.

And Derek’s in love with him. And love makes people do crazy things, right? So he throws all of his common sense and morality in the trash, steps forward, grabs him by the waist and pulls him in.

Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s neck, presses in close and kisses back with all his might.

Kissing Stiles without that sense of guilt, without the fear, is so unbearably beautiful, so unbelievably incredible that it makes his head spin. He opens his mouth, lets Stiles’ tongue meet his eagerly, and then there’s that delicious slide that makes Derek groan.

He can feel Stiles smile through the kiss, feels one of his hands come down to Derek’s chin. They’re already pressed together as closely as is possible, and Derek wants Stiles closer. He can feel Stiles’ hardness through his sweats, a hard line against his own erection, and he pants as he jerks his hips to grind against Stiles’.

Stiles moans out a “Ngh, _Derek,”_ and then it’s all Derek can do to cup his hands beneath Stiles’ thighs and lift them until Stiles’ wraps his legs around his waist.

Derek carries him easily, lips still sliding against Stiles’, and he fumbles his way to the stairs where he sets him down on the bottom step. Their hands roam over each other as they make their way up, and then before Derek knows it, they’re in his room, on his bed, naked and rutting.

Derek pauses between kisses, asks, “What do you want?” and Stiles says, “Everything.”

When Derek enters Stiles, all the animalism is gone, replaced with a soft tenderness that makes Derek dizzy. They rock together slowly, softly, a steady build that rushes between them as they press against each other and kiss lazily.

They come together, come down from their high together, and slot, naked and dirty, against one another. Derek’s on his back, arms around Stiles who’s lying on top of him and panting against his neck.

Derek runs his fingers through Stiles’ hair. “Was that your first time?” he asks, softly.

“Nice of you to ask afterwards,” Stiles laughs, and Derek taps his hand mockingly against Stiles’ side. “But no, it wasn’t.” He kisses Derek’s chin. “Not such a blushing virgin after all.”

Derek snorts. “As if you ever were.” He wilfully ignores the pang of jealousy that spikes within him as he goes to roll away. When Stiles clings onto his shoulder, Derek says, “I’m just going to get something to clean us up with.” Stiles makes a sound as if he disapproves, but lets him pull away anyway, lets him run the wet flannel down his body, and then lets Derek crawl back underneath him.

They settle into a position that Derek knows is going to ache in the morning, arm trapped beneath Stiles and the bed, limbs wrapped around him. He really can’t bring himself to care.

Stiles nestles his head beneath Derek’s neck, and he holds him close, says, “Night, Stiles.”

He can feel Stiles’ smile against his skin, as he says, “Night Derek.”

As Derek drifts away, the press of Stiles against him makes him more content than he’s felt in years. He’s loose limbed and drowsy, and while there’s still that tiny voice, far back in the depths of Derek’s mind that’s telling him this was wrong, the rest of Derek doesn’t care at all. He’s got Stiles in his arms, in his bed, in his home, and when he finally falls asleep, he does so with a sweet smile playing on his lips.

-

Things are different in the morning, because things are always different in the morning. The light’s filtering in through the gap in the curtains, bathing his and Stiles’ forms, and when Derek turns his head to face Stiles’ sleeping face, the sight makes his breath catch. Because in the morning light, sleeping softly, breathing gently, lips parted slightly and moles illuminated? Stiles is stunning.

This is wrong.

He pulls away from Stiles, watches him reach out sleepily against the empty space before burrowing his head into his pillow. Derek allows himself one last long look, tries to commit the image of Stiles sleepy and naked to memory. He pulls on his own sweats and a t-shirt, turns away, and traipses down the stairs to put on a pot of coffee.

Stiles follows about ten minutes later, wearing only the sweatpants Derek had given him the night before, and Derek has to pull his gaze away from his chest.

Stiles walks over to him, grabs the coffee mug from his hands and takes a sip, before setting it on the counter and wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck.

“G’morning,” he says, pressing a kiss to Derek’s chin, and Derek struggles, he _so_ struggles to push him away.

Stiles steps back, arms dropping to his sides, and he says, “What’s up?”

Derek knows that Stiles knows what he’s going to say, knows he’s just putting that last ounce of hope out there that it’ll be different to what he expects.

But Derek needs to do this, needs to say this, and this all needs to stop. He’s had his night, taken what he shouldn’t have and now he needs to end it.

“Last night was a mistake,” he says, simply, watching for Stiles’ reaction.

Stiles glances to the floor, says, “You didn’t seem to think that last night.”

“I know, Stiles, but it can’t happen again. It _can’t,_ and you know why.”

Stiles throws his hands up into the air. “Yeah, because of a bunch of made up bullshit rules that don’t take into account the fact that it’s actually possible to think for yourself before you’re eighteen.”

“The rules are there to protect you, okay, I took advantage-“

“Jesus, no you didn’t!” He steps forward, toe to toe with Derek. “I knew what I wanted last night, what I’ve wanted for _weeks,_ and the fact that I was a little shaken up last night had nothing to do with it. I made a decision.”

“A decision that you’re not old enough to make.”

“Only legally! If we were in another state that wouldn’t be an issue!”

“I’m still your teacher, that wouldn’t have changed.” Derek’s trying to stay calm, doesn’t want to let his emotions get the better of him, because if they did, he’d be kissing Stiles stupid by now. “I’m supposed to protect you, not _sleep with you.”_

“You haven’t been my teacher all these months, okay? You’ve been my friend. I didn’t fall for my teacher, I fell for my _friend.”_

“Don’t,” Derek says. Because he can take rejecting Stiles if it’s just about sex, but if Stiles _feels_ things? Derek doesn’t know if he can ignore that. He looks away as he speaks. “Sometimes we can’t be with the people we want to be with. You said last night that you’d respect my decision if I said no. I’m saying no.”

Stiles takes a few moments, lets his eyes rest closed, and then nods. “Okay. Okay. But if what you feel for me is even _half_ of what I feel for you?” He bites his lip. “I’ll wait.”

Derek shakes his head. “You shouldn’t, you shouldn’t. You should find someone your own age you should-“

“You can turn me down, okay, but you can’t actually tell me what to do.” He gives Derek a sad smile, wraps his arm around himself. He starts stepping backwards out of the kitchen. “They’ll be done with my house by now. I’ll get out of your hair.” He jerks his hand in a small wave and turns away, and Derek watches him. He pushes down the part of him that wants to pull Stiles back to him, to hold him close and to never let go, and turns back to his coffee.

It’s done. He’s done the right thing. He ignores the pain in his chest and tries desperately not to think of the way Stiles had felt beneath him last night.

-

Derek knows it’s for the best, knows there’s no way anything could have continued between him and Stiles. But at the same time, he also didn’t realise how hard it would be to go from having Stiles to not having him. It’s harder than it was before, when all he had was the vague idea of something happening with Stiles, a kind of distant notion that had no real chance of reality.

But now Derek knows how Stiles tastes, how he arches when he comes, all the sweet soft sounds he makes in his sleep. It makes his heart swell to think about it, and he’s not proud, but he touches himself to the memory of their night more than once in the week that follows.

He doesn’t go back to the diner, of course, stays at home and wallows in guilt and misery, torn between wanting to burn Stiles’ images to his memory and to forget that anything between them ever happened. He hates that he gave in, that he risked his job and his life, but can’t deny the way being with Stiles had felt so right.

He decides, in the end, that no one can find out what he’s thinking, that those memories aren’t going to hurt anyone. So he keeps them safe, lets the pictures dance in front of his eyes as he’s falling asleep, and wonders, idly, if there’s anyway he’ll be able to live a normal life after this.

He thinks about what Stiles had said, _I’ll wait_ ringing in his ears, and when he’s quiet and alone, wonders if maybe, after everything, in ten years’ time, they could maybe be together.

He doesn’t think about it much. There’s no point. Stiles will move on, and Derek should too.

-

The morning Derek walks back into the high school, he’s praying to every god possible that Stiles isn’t in his class. He takes his lists with shaking hands, hopes nobody notices how quickly he flicks to his senior classes, and his stomach drops. Because there his name is, _of course it is._

There’s no way he can contest, has got no legitimate excuses for why he shouldn’t be teaching Stiles. He grits his teeth, stuffs the lists inside of his bag, and makes his way to the teacher’s lounge for the start of year staff meeting.

Principal Deaton starts off by talking about nothing, and then goes on to say something that makes Derek’s heart sink.

“This year we’ve decided to introduce a mentoring program for the seniors, to help make sure they’re keeping up, looking at colleges and so on. All senior teachers will get around ten students each to mentor, meet up with a couple of times a semester, they’ll come to you with any problems, that sort of stuff.” He pulls out some papers and hands them round. “Here are the lists of who’s mentoring who. Or should I say ‘whom’?” Most of the staff laugh weakly, and Derek frantically takes the list and scans down the names of his students.

His hopes rise as he looks down the names, but as he reaches the bottom, _of course,_ Stiles’ name is there.

Derek doesn’t know how he’s going to get through this year.

“If you could all meet up with your students, just to see where they’re starting at, in first period, that would be great. I’ll put a notice out to your students about where to find you.”

So Derek spends the first fifty minutes of his day sitting in the faculty office, either talking to seniors about their ambitions for the year, or panicking about having to face Stiles in such an intimate setting.

Stiles comes in five minutes before the end of first period, and he’s so grateful that there’s someone else in the office, because at least this way Stiles can’t talk about what happened.

He’s as beautiful as ever, messy hair, tight jeans, long limbs, and at least he looks as unhappy with the situation as Derek is. He collapses into the seat across from him, drops his bag onto the floor and stretches out his legs, sinking down into the chair, hands clasped in his lap.

“Hey Mr Hale,” he says, his voice betraying nothing.

Derek notes that it’s not ‘Mr H’, or ‘teach’ anymore, and he tries to tell himself that this is the best way. He really does.

He clears his throat. “Stiles. How are you?”

Stiles shrugs. “Okay.”

“Um, so, what are your goals for this year?”

Stiles shrugs again, and doesn’t say anything.

“Any colleges you were interested in?” Derek presses, pen poised as if to write.

Another shrug. “A couple.”

Derek glances at Mr Argent at the desk across the room, who doesn’t look like he’s paying too much attention, but still, Derek wants to play this safe. “Which ones were those?”

Stiles picks at the seam of his jeans, not meeting Derek’s eyes. “Maybe CalTech, Stanford, I don’t know.”

Derek nods, writes the words down on Stiles’ file. “Those are both good. You should do well at either.”

Stiles shrugs again, and says, “Will that be all?”

Derek says, “Uh, unless you wanted to talk about anything else?” and Stiles shakes his head and leaps from his seat in no time at all.

Derek’s staring into empty space for a solid minute before Chris pipes up “Jeez, what’s wrong with Stilinski?”

Derek shakes his head, swallows. “No idea.”

Chris’ mouth twists in thought. “We should keep an eye on him, make sure he’s doing okay.”

Derek nods. He absolutely doesn’t tell Chris to what extent Derek watching Stiles will not be a problem.

-

He gets through two weeks of teaching Stiles before the problems start. Before they _really_ start, anyway. Teaching Stiles had never been easy, but it had always been, to some extent, fun. Even when he was interrupting he was making interest points, or making people laugh. Now, Stiles just listens, takes things in, asks questions only when strictly necessary. It kills Derek to see Stiles so subdued. He wants desperately to put back the spark that had made Stiles so _Stiles._ But, typically, he’s too chicken shit to approach Stiles about what’s happening, to try and find a way to get back to how they were. Too much has changed between them.

But then, two weeks after class starts back, he has no choice. Because apparently Stiles isn’t himself in other classes either, and people are noticing.

Ms Martin approaches him and says, “Your Stiles’ mentor, right? Do you think you could have a talk with him, see what’s wrong? We’re all pretty worried. His dad’s been out of the hospital for a couple of weeks now, so it shouldn’t be that.”

All Derek can do is nod, because how can he say no? He sends a message to Stiles to meet him in his office after school, makes sure the teacher who delivers it knows it’s to do with the mentorship, and by the time the bell rings, Derek’s sitting at his desk and panicking.

Chris has gone, and with him the armor that his presence brought. When Stiles knocks on his door five minutes later, all of his emotions and fears are laid bare.

Stiles pokes his head round the door when Derek calls for him to come in, and asks, “You wanted to see me?” His voice is bland, but there’s something, _something_ Derek can see in his eyes.

Derek clears his throat and nods, gestures at Stiles to sit down. “Your teachers are concerned that you haven’t been yourself lately.”

Stiles nods. “And you know exactly why, but you can’t really tell them, so when they asked you to meet with me, you couldn’t say no. And now we’re here.”

Derek gives a small smile, more of a grimace, actually, and says, “That’s about the shape of it.”

There’s a pause, before Stiles says, “So can I leave?”

Derek sighs. “Maybe you shouldn’t. It’s not good that you’re so affected by everything that happened.”

Stiles clenches his jaw. “Maybe you should stop trying to tell me how I should and shouldn’t feel, and try to look into your own messed up decision making process. I’m allowed to hurt, _Derek.”_ He spits out Derek’s name like poison, grits his teeth.

Derek has to think for a moment, can’t bear to talk with Stiles like this. “You are, of course you are, but have you tried to move on?”

Stiles widens his eyes in disbelief, drops his mouth open in shock. He closes it again quickly, before saying, “Fuck you. _Fuck. You.”_

He rises from his chair, grabs his bag and makes for the door, but before he reaches it Derek’s there with a hand around his wrist, and Derek had no idea he’d been able to move so fast.

Stiles looks at him with wide eyes, and Derek says, “I’m sorry, I really, really am. But nothing can happen.”

Stiles shakes his head slightly, looks down at Derek’s hand where it’s locked around him. He looks back up, and says, quietly, “Why not?”

Derek drops his wrist then, steps back. “Because it’s illegal. Because I’d lose my job. Because I’m twice your age.” He doesn’t look at Stiles as he speaks, picks a spot on the floor by his shoe to focus on.

“I wouldn’t tell anyone, no one would have to find out. I wouldn’t let you lose your job. Besides, we’d only have to hide for a year, right? And, in case I haven’t made this clear, I don’t care how old you are.”

When Derek meets Stiles’ eyes again, they’re shining with that fire Derek’s used to seeing. And it’s intoxicating. He shakes his head again, trying to muster all of his resolve. “We _can’t. I_ can’t. I can’t just take whatever I want.”

Stiles steps forward, closing the distance between the, “I’m right here,” he says. “Take me.”

He opens his arms wide and drops his bag to the floor with a thud, and Derek comes so, so close to stepping into them. “ _Stiles,”_ he warns, and then Stiles is stepping closer still.

“We’re both miserable man. You know I am, I know you are. Why would you keep doing something that made you miserable?” He lifts his hands and holds Derek’s face in them, gently, reverently. “I was there that night too. I know what happened, know how we felt. You can't pretend what happened wasn’t real.”

Derek doesn’t push Stiles’ hands away, doesn’t step back. He says, “It’s wrong.”

Stiles shakes his head. “It’s not. It’s not. No one would know.” He steps forward, brings his lips to brush against Derek’s.

Derek brings his hands up to Stiles’ hips, and in that moment, he’s gone. Every last brick in his wall of defence crumbles, and he surges forward and pulls Stiles in closer. It’s everything he remembers from the last time they kissed – it’s like fireworks are being set off behind his eyes, stars are being born beneath his fingertips. Stiles is _real,_ he’s _here,_ and it’s all Derek can do to pull back after a few minutes.

“It’s not, we shouldn’t,” he pants, resting his forehead against Stiles’. “Not here,” he settles on, eventually. “Someone might see.”

Stiles nods against him. “Your place?” he asks, and Derek nods and pulls back, smoothing himself down.

He thinks for a moment before saying, “Come at six,” because them leaving at the same time and then arriving at the same time at Derek’s house would look very suspicious. Derek doesn’t think Laura’s actually rigged up cameras to spy on him yet, but he’s not _certain._

When Derek finally opens the door to Stiles and lets him step inside, it’s like all the suns are rising at once. They kiss with an urgency that’s mixed with tenderness, undress like they’re both made of glass, and when they’re lying together afterwards, a mix of hot limbs and cool breath, Derek wonders why he ever denied himself this; why he ever thought he could live without this happiness.

-

“Won’t your dad be wondering where you are?” Derek asks as they’re drifting off into sleep.

Stiles mumbles something against his shoulder, and when Derek asks, “huh?” he lifts his head and says, “He’s on nights.”

He rests his chin on Derek’s collar bone and Derek meets his eyes. After a few moments, Stiles asks, “Are you happy?”

Derek thinks for a moment, then says, “Yeah. I know I shouldn’t be, but I am.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and moves up over Derek’s body, bracing himself on either side of Derek’s head with his forearms. He rests his forehead against Derek’s, and says, “Why are so convinced that you’re not allowed to be happy?”

Derek brings his arms up to Stiles’ side, and lets him settle against him, a solid, welcome weight. “I’m not technically allowed this, you know.”

Stiles presses a kiss to Derek’s mouth. “You are now. This is me giving you permission.”

“Changing the law?” Derek asks.

Stiles rolls his eyes again and rolls off, keeping an arm against Derek’s chest. “I thought we’d agreed that the law was stupid and we weren’t gonna pay any attention to it.”

Derek sighs. “Yeah. We did. I’m still getting used to it, is all.” He brings a hand up to play with the fingers splayed across his chest. “Also, it doesn’t help that your dad is the sheriff.”

“He won’t find out. There’s literally zero point worrying, because he won’t find out.”

Derek hums. “We’re going to have to be so careful. Nothing at school anymore.”

“Duh. Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

“Every word that comes out of your mouth makes me regret my decision more and more.”

Stiles laughs. “Liar. You weren’t complaining about my mouth ten minutes ago.”

“Case in point.”

-

They settle into an odd kind of domesticity. It should be strange how naturally it comes, being with Stiles in that way, but it’s really not. It feels so right. When he wakes up in the mornings and rolls to face Stiles, or when he finds him making breakfast in the kitchen and he steps up behind him, wrapping eager arms around his bare midriff, all Derek can think about is how happy he is.

It’s still there, in the back of his mind, of course. The knowledge that what he’s doing is wrong, that he’s taking advantage, that he’ll get sent to prison, lose his job, lose Stiles. When he’s in class, teaching Stiles, and he catches his eye across the room, he’s reminded of how _wrong_ what they’re doing is. Stiles will smirk around his pen, eyes wide and inviting, and Derek will feel so _dirty._

But then Stiles will come over to his, collapse on the sofa next to him, and they’ll marathon trash TV while eating take out, Stiles leaning into his shoulder. It’s like when they were at the diner, easy talk and happy smiles, the rest of the world forgotten. Stiles does homework at his kitchen table, pesters Derek for answers to the history work he sets.

He and Stiles go through college applications, and Stiles picks all California ones, pointedly not mentioning any reasons other than staying near his dad. When he’s flicking through an accommodation pamphlet, he looks at rooms that don’t share. Derek gives him a puzzled look, says, “Isn’t that way more expensive?”

Stiles shrugs. “I have diner money.”

“It’s not worth it,” Derek says, pressing a kiss to Stiles’ cheek. “You can come back,” he whispers into his ear.

And, okay, they forget about college applications for the rest of the night.

The thing is, it’s mostly wonderful. For nearly two months, they wrap themselves up in each other, spend nights and days consumed, and Derek can nearly forget that what they’re doing is supposed to be wrong. Because, as cliché as it sounds, what they’re doing only feels right.

All Derek can do is cling on to what he has, and hope a storm doesn’t wash him away.

-

The storm doesn’t come straight away, but when it does, it comes in the shape of Laura. And Derek doesn’t want to think of his sister as a storm, but it’s kinda hard not to.

It’s a Sunday morning, and Derek and Stiles are in the kitchen, wearing only their boxers, scrambling eggs and pressing playful kisses to each other’s lips. The doorbell goes just after the eggs hit the pan, and Derek doesn’t think twice, leaves Stiles whisking as he grabs a dressing gown from the back of the kitchen door and throwing it on, striding towards the door, spirits high and heart happy.

When he opens the door? Spirits not so high.

Laura’s standing on the other side, eyes wide as she takes in Derek’s appearance, and Derek wraps the robe more tightly round himself under her scrutiny. “Laura?” he manages, eventually. “You keep turning up unannounced!” He’s trying for humour, but it must come off as slightly manic, because Laura crosses her arms in her ‘I mean business’ pose, and Derek feels his heart race.

“Charming. Can I come in?”

Derek can’t say no, of course he can’t, but Stiles is still in the kitchen, and the only way he could leave and not be seen by Laura would be if he went into the garden. And he’s still half naked and scrambling eggs. Covered in bite marks, and smelling of sex. And this is not good.

“Sure,” he says, raising his voice slightly, to warn Stiles in the only way he can think of. “Come on in, Laura!”

She looks puzzled at that, and sure, he must seem pretty erratic right now, but that’s mostly because he is.

He finds himself suddenly wishing he’d gone first, had led Laura into the living room, but there she goes, striding straight to the kitchen, and Derek quickly shuts the door and follows her.

He can see the moment Laura sees Stiles, sees her stop in the doorway. She turns back immediately to face Derek, steps out of the kitchen, and says, “Derek, you could have told me you had company.”

“Err, sorry,” Derek says, somewhat surprised, because Laura doesn’t seem mad, doesn’t seem ready to run off to the police.

She steps towards him, says, “I’ll wait in the living room, you can both get dressed. Seems like you’ve been keeping things from me!”

She says it with a smile, and that’s when Derek realises that, oh, _she hasn’t figured it out yet._ She must think that Derek’s just dating a much younger man. Maybe they can make this okay.

Once she’s gone into the living room, Derek darts into the kitchen and grabs Stiles’ wrist, who’s looking at him with wide, panicked eyes. “We need to get dressed,” he says, trying to convey with his eyes the words ‘I’ll explain upstairs,’ not wanting for Laura to overhear anything out of the ordinary.

Stiles is rooted to the spot, so Derek gives him a tug, and he soon falls into step behind him. When they’re up in his room, Stiles says, “God, Derek, there was nowhere I could go, I’m so sorry-“

“It’s okay, hey, it’s fine. I don’t think she realises, so if we just say you’re older, like a college student or something?”

Stiles is nodding, almost furiously, and he and Derek start pulling clothes on haphazardly. They’re dressed within two minutes, sheepishly making their way down the stairs.

Laura is sitting on the couch, idly flicking through a magazine, but she stands when they walk into the living room. She holds a hand out to Stiles, says, “Hi, I’m Laura, Derek’s sister. Nice to meet you.”

Stiles clears his throat, glances briefly at Derek, before taking Laura’s and shaking it firmly. “I’m Stiles.”

Laura freezes, then, mid-shake, and Stiles looks back at Derek, and then it dawns on him. Laura knows that Derek teaches a kid called Stiles.

She pulls her hand away, says, “Stiles? As in Derek’s student, Stiles?”

Derek can see Stiles gulp, can almost see his mind racing as he reaches for an answer. “No?” he settles on, after a moment. “I go to the community college. I met Derek at the diner.”

Which, _not good._

“The same diner where Derek’s student Stiles works?”

Stiles laughs, rubs a hand awkwardly at the back of his neck. “That was a pretty weird coincidence, yeah. But no, I’m a different Stiles.”

Laura raises her eyebrows, looks back and forth between them. “Derek, are you fucking your student?”

Derek thinks he does a pretty good job of looking shocked and indignant, but Stiles is just kinda rooted to the spot, and as a pair, they must look pretty guilty.

“What, no!” he scoffs, and even to Derek’s mind that sounds fake

Laura’s face is the perfect picture of horror, and Derek wants to turn back time, to run away and never come back, to fake his own death and move to El Salvador. His traitorous mind pipes up with a wonder about how he could possibly take Stiles with him, and god, what the hell is wrong with him?

They stand in stunned silence for a few moments, and Stiles looks so _broken._ Derek wonders, idly, if he looks as bad.

Laura speaks, eventually, says, “Stiles? I think I need to speak to my brother alone,” and how is her voice that level? Why hasn’t she killed Derek by now?

Stiles mumbles something unintelligible, falters between Derek and Laura for a moment, before giving an awkward wave and leaving the living room. Derek wants to say something, to pull him in and kiss him goodbye, to say that it’s all going to be okay, Derek’s going to _make it okay._ Except Derek can’t promise that, can only watch helplessly as Stiles pulls on his coat and practically runs through the front door. It’s nearly a slam when it closes, and Derek’s gaze is pulled back to Laura’s hard stare, her face now thunder.

“You are going to sit down and tell me what the hell is going on, Derek, because I swear to god, I will strangle you with my bare hands if you lie to me one more time.”

Derek gulps, takes jagged steps to the couch and sits carefully, eyes fixed on the floor. He feels the couch dip when Laura sits next to him, but she doesn’t reach out to him, stays away. “Talk,” she says. “Tell me how you ended up sleeping with one of your students.”

Derek swallows. “I didn’t plan it.”

“I sure as hell hope not.”

He shifts uncomfortably, doesn’t want her thinking of him like that, like some kind of _predator._ “It was the diner. We saw each other every day, and it just… _happened._ ”

“When?”

“Once, the last week of summer. Then two weeks after school started back. And, er, since then.”

“Derek. What the fuck.”

He drop his face into his hands, rubs his fingers into his eyes, so hard it almost hurts. “I don’t know. I just, I can’t _help myself.”_ He feels his eyes begin to water, and it’s not just because of the pressure. He lifts his head, faces Laura, and for the first time sees something other than anger in her eyes. “It’s not, it’s not just sex. I love him. He loves me.”

The next time she speaks, she doesn’t sound mad at all. Just sad. “Derek. Derek, you need to finish this. Seriously. How old is he?”

Derek averts his gaze. “Seventeen.”

“Jesus. Derek, you know you can’t do this anymore. You’ll lose your job, you could go to _prison.”_

Derek shakes his head. “We’re not, we’re being careful. No one will find out.”

“ _I_ found out.”

“No one else is going to come barging into my house.”

“It’s not fair on Stiles, he’s underage.”

“He’s not a kid, he knows what he’s doing.”

“Do you think his parents would agree?”

Derek clenches his jaw. Laura notices.

“What. He’s not an orphan is he, he’s not in care?”

Derek closes his eyes, takes a breath, because what’s one extra burn? “His dad’s the sheriff.”

“Derek. Jesus Christ, Derek. I can’t support this. I can’t. This is going to end in disaster.”

Derek looks at her again. “Just, don’t tell anyone?”

She sighs. “You know how everyone warned you about Kate?”

Derek feels his blood run cold. “Don’t you do that. Don’t you dare compare Stiles to Kate.”

She leans forward, takes his hands in hers. “I’m not.”

And then Derek realises what she means, feels his heart stop. He pulls back hastily. “I can’t,” he stands, “Don’t you – get out.”

“Derek, I-“

“Get out.”

She looks briefly apologetic as she leaves, but Derek’s blood is burning too thickly through his veins to be able to register anything but anger and betrayal right now. To compare him to Kate?

Laura’s gone almost straight away. It takes Derek a few moments to really think about what she’d said, and after a minute or so, he can see what she means. Older, wiser, younger, vulnerable. But Derek isn’t planning to kill Stiles’ whole family, isn’t _insane._ Derek _loves_ Stiles.

Derek remembers what it was like with Kate. There was no affection there, nothing like love. Nothing like liking, either. It was just sex in bad places. Derek was obsessed with her because she was cool and older and sexy, but they’d never made any real pretence at a relationship. Even when they were together, Derek knew there was nothing deeper going on.

He and Stiles are different, for so many reasons. But then. Then.

This is how it must look from an outside perspective. If the sheriff found out, there’s no way he’d believe Derek was genuinely in love with Stiles. And even if he did, why would that help things? Teachers shouldn’t fall in love with minors.

And, okay, they’re not going to tell anyone for ages, but it would come out eventually. And what if the world viewed Derek as the Kate? What if Derek _is_ hurting Stiles, but just doesn’t know it yet? Stiles is so stubborn, so sure, so persuasive. He is, _technically,_ a kid, for all that he acts like an adult.

And Derek so, so wants Laura to be wrong. Wants to be able to go back to what he and Stiles had, to live in blissful ignorance and pretend the world doesn’t exist outside of their bubble. But that thought is there again, the one that was there at the beginning, the ‘bad, evil, wrong’ thought, and Derek knows it’s not going away.

He hears his phone buzz in the kitchen, goes and picks it up, and finds two texts from Stiles.

_R u okay??? what happened?_

_Am I okay to come over?_

He makes up his mind, types back _yeah, you can come round,_ and prepares himself for the second storm.

-

Stiles isn’t angry, which is good. Only Stiles is sad, which is bad, very very bad indeed. His eyes are soft, and he says, “Did Laura say she would tell if we didn’t stop?”

Derek shakes his head. “She wouldn’t do something like that. She just, she made me realise some things.”

Stiles sighs, reaches across the couch to take Derek’s hands. “It wasn’t stuff about stupid laws and how I’m too young, was it? Because I thought we agreed that those reasons were dumb.”

“But you _are_ too young. I’d forgotten how intense things feel when you’re a teenager, how easy it is to get sucked in. I don’t want to be the reason all your relationships in the future are screwed up.”

Stiles furrows his brow. “I don’t understand what you’re saying. What future relationships?”

Derek steels himself, knows that if he’s not direct, he won’t be able to let go. “Stiles, this was never going to last. Come on, who gets into a relationship at seventeen and stays in that relationship?”

“My mom was sixteen when she met my dad. Who was twenty-three.”

Derek pulls his hands back. “I bet your dad wasn’t her teacher.”

“Can you stop talking like you’ve kidnapped me and kept me locked in your basement for sex?”

“When I was your age, I got into a relationship with an older woman. After a month of everyone telling me she was wrong, she burned down my house and killed my whole family. I was convinced I knew what I wanted, ignored everything everyone told me, and it ended in disaster. I’ve never been able to…you’re probably the first, since, the first that was ever anything. But I don’t want you to be in your thirties, and to look back on me as the Kate in your life.”

And, okay, Derek hadn’t meant to say all that. And the look on Stiles’ face makes him think he really shouldn’t have. He’s kind of gaping at him, eyes wide and mouth open.

After a moment, he says, “Oh my god, are you serious?” When Derek doesn’t reply, he continues, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He scoots close to Derek on the couch, presses their sides together, and grabs Derek’s face with his hands, forcing their eyes to meet. “It’s not like that,” he says, defiant. “We’re not like that, you’re not like that, I’m not like that. I would never do anything to hurt you, and I’m pretty sure you’d never do anything to hurt me.” He brings their foreheads together, briefly, kisses Derek softly, chastely. “What do I have to do to prove to you that this isn’t wrong?”

Derek lets his eyes flutter closed, brings his hands up to close around Stiles’. “I think. I think we should stop.” He takes a breath, opens his eyes to Stiles’ frighteningly beautiful ones. “Until you graduate. If you still want this, if you haven’t, you know, found anyone?” Stiles snorts, and Derek smiles. “Then we can start again.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “So damn romantic.” He swoops in for a kiss, this one longer, deeper, and Derek can’t help himself, and opens up beneath him. When Stiles pulls back, he says to Derek, “One last time? For the time being?”

And Derek shouldn’t, he really, really shouldn’t, but he’s going to have to be without Stiles for over half a year, and he’s taken so much, surely one more time can’t hurt?

He gathers Stiles to him, holds tight, and forgets, for another two hours, that he’s supposed to be feeling bad.

-

It’s not like before, when he stopped seeing Stiles after that first time. Maybe it’s because there’s some kind of end in sight, some date when they can be together again without feeling guilty. Derek knows, even if Stiles still wants to be with him when he graduates, it won’t be plain sailing. They won’t be able to tell people right away, and Stiles will go off to college, and even if they were able to convince people that nothing happened before he graduated, people would still disapprove. Stiles’ dad isn’t going to just magically be okay with Stiles sleeping with a man twice as old as him _and_ his ex-teacher.

But there’s still this glimmer of hope inside Derek, a hope that this is going to be all right, and it’s enough to stop him being miserable without Stiles.

Stiles doesn’t seem miserable either, no one’s asked Derek to mentor him better. It’s probably largely to do with the fact that they’ve still been texting, and, okay, that probably isn’t very sensible, all things considered, but it’s so hard to not send Stiles a picture of a pigeon chasing a cat when he sees it walking down the street. And it’s impossible not to respond when Stiles sends him live updates of his homework. Derek’s only human, and he might be a walking disaster of a human, but he can’t help it, okay?

They still smile at each other in the hallway, still talk about the things that make them happy and make them sad, and it’s like the summer all over again, when Derek was just starting to fall for Stiles. It feels innocent, which is a million miles from what it actually is, but it makes Derek loose and giddy, and it’s enough for Laura to pin him with a hard stare and say, “You’re still sleeping with him, aren’t you?”

Derek balks, says, “No, I am not.”

Laura purses her lips. “Then you wanna tell me why you’ve been looking like you’re on cloud nine every time I’ve seen you for the past three weeks?”

Derek sighs. “I’m not sleeping with him anymore. I wasn’t lying about that. But we still talk, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Derek, I don’t think that’s a very good idea. I don’t think it’s good for you to get even more invested.”

“We’re waiting until graduation. If he moves on, decides he doesn’t want to, finds someone else, then I’ll deal with that when it happens.”

Laura reaches across the table at the bar, takes his hand. “I don’t want you to get your heart broken, or for you to throw your life away, if it’s not going to be worth it.”

Derek sighs. “It feels worth it.”

Laura nods. “Okay then. But nothing until graduation.”

Derek pats her hand, and says, “I still haven’t forgiven you for comparing me to Kate, you know.”

She winces, visibly. “I did what I had to, and it worked. Obviously I know you’re nothing like that she-devil.”

“You know this is serious, right? This isn’t just some fling.”

Laura nods. “Does Stiles feel the same way?”

Derek smiles, can’t help himself. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

“I really hope you know what you’re doing here.”

“Yeah. So do I.”

-

On Christmas morning, when Derek’s pouring out juice at Laura’s house, he gets a text from Stiles.

_merry christmas! I know you said no presents, so all you get is this: I love you xxx_

And Derek smiles, because it feels so _high school,_ and he winces when he realises just how high school it is.

 _Love you more,_ he sends back, and within a minute his phone beeps again, with a _not possible!_

It’s not what they should be doing, they shouldn’t be so obvious in their texts, because if anyone found out, it would be the end of everything. There would be the proof.

Normally they delete their messages to each other, but Derek keeps these ones. Just because.

-

School starts back, and Derek finds a note in the drawer of his desk, that says, ‘less than 7 months!’ and Stiles catches his eye after he’s read it, all bright smiles and easy laughs.

Derek sends Stiles a text at lunch, asks, _still not changed your mind?_

He gets a reply straight away, a simple, _no way, Miguel,_ and Derek snorts and types back, _that’s not how that goes._

_Fuck the popo_

_You’re ridiculous_

_You love me anyway!_

_;)_

-

Parent/teacher conferences are never fun. Kids are either fine or terrible, and the fine kids’ parents want to hear that they’re incredible, and the terrible kids’ parents hate it when they’re told their kids are terrible.

Derek’s not looking forward to it, at all. But even less is he looking forward to meeting Sheriff Stilinski.

The Sheriff is pretty much universally loved around Beacon Hills. He’s strong but fair, gets results but isn’t too harsh, and he cares about his son with a ferocity that could tear the town apart. It could definitely tear Derek apart. And he’s sure that the sheriff doesn’t know anything, because he wouldn’t still be living if he did.

It doesn’t mean he’s not nervous as the Sheriff knocks at his classroom door, and then makes his way to sit across from him.

“Hi, I’m Stiles’ dad,” he says, reaching across the desk to shake Derek’s hand.

Derek nods, and says, “Nice to see you again, Sheriff.”

The Sheriff smiles, says, “I’m hoping this will go better than the last time I saw you. What nonsense has my son been writing about this year?”

Derek forces out a nervous laugh. “Actually, he’s been very focused this year. His grades are all good and he’s seeming more confident in general.” It’s the line he’d practised for what felt like hours the previous day. Not too forced, not unnatural. Nothing suspicious going on here, thanks very much.

The Sheriff raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Wow. Okay. I’m glad to hear that. I was actually expecting it to be much worse.”

“How come?”

The Sheriff shifts in his chair. “He’s just been…different, this year. He’s not home a lot, and he thinks I don’t notice because I’m at work, but I do. He goes off for whole nights sometimes, and he’ll say he was at Scott’s, but then Melissa, err, Scott’s mom, won’t know anything about it. And he’ll say that he just didn’t see her at Scott’s, or something, but I’m not stupid, you know? I’d assumed his grades were suffering too.”

And, _wow,_ Derek feels bad. “If you like, I could talk to him? Ask him how things are?”

The Sheriff laughs, says, “No offense, but if he won’t tell me, I don’t think he’ll tell you. We’ve always been very close. But actually, it’s already gotten a lot better. Since a couple of weeks before Christmas break. But I’m glad things are going okay.”

Derek smiles, clears his throat. “Did you have anything else you wanted to discuss?”

“Nope. Thanks for your time, Mr. Hale.”

-

_WOAH, did you tell my dad I’m not a total failure?? Nice one dude_

_That’s because you’re not a total failure. And don’t call me dude._

_Naaaaw, thanks dude. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me, dude._

_Leave me alone, dude._

_!!!! ;) ;) ;)_

-

The texts don’t stop for the rest of the year. Stiles texts him updates on his applications to college (gets into and chooses Stanford), Derek tells him about Laura (gets drunk and married in Vegas, divorces the guy two days later), and it doesn’t actually feel that different to how they were before. There’s just no sex. It’s nice. Derek’s happy.

On Stiles’ birthday, he sends Derek the simple text of _legal, bitch, ;) ;) ;),_ to which Derek replies, _not quite._

It’s all going fine, well, in fact. And then The Sheriff strides back into his classroom at the beginning of May, and says, “You need to give me one good reason why I shouldn’t arrest you right here, right now, for what you’ve been doing to my son.”

And Derek’s stunned, can’t move from where he’s sat at his desk, and then the door’s being thrown open and Stiles runs in, panting and flushed. “Dad, _Dad,_ stop!”

The Sheriff, hand on his holster, doesn’t even look at Stiles as he says, “Stiles, this is for your own good.”

Stiles grabs onto his arm while Derek gapes at the two of them, and he makes the Sheriff face him. “You should have let me explain.”

“Explain what, how you’ve been manipulated and molested by your teacher?” Derek winces. “I figured that out for myself, thanks.”

“God, dad, he’s done nothing wrong! This was my choice! We haven’t even done anything!” And, okay, the Sheriff obviously doesn’t know the whole story, and Derek’s more than happy to keep him in the dark about that.

“I’m not an idiot,” the Sheriff snaps back. “I read the messages, Stiles.”

“Yeah, we talk, and we’re friends, but we’re not sleeping together!”

“You shouldn’t be friends with your teacher, Stiles. You shouldn’t be planning a relationship with your teacher for when you’ve graduated. And _he_ shouldn’t be either!” He throws an accusatory finger in Derek’s direction at that, and Derek shrinks back. “He has a duty of care which he is abusing, and if I can’t arrest him, I can sure as hell get him fired.”

“Dad, I swear to god, if you do that, I will never speak to you again.”

Derek stands, then, says, “Stiles.”

The Sheriff swings his gaze back to him, his eyes filthy with rage. “Don’t you dare,” he warns, and Derek closes his mouth promptly.

“Dad.” Stiles grabs his arm again. “I know there’s no way I can make you understand this, that this isn’t seedy or wrong, that he’s not done anything wrong. But if you do anything, if you tell anyone? It’s not going to help anything. I’m not going to change my mind about how I feel, I’m not going to thank you for ‘saving’ me from some kind of terrible relationship. You’d make me miserable, you’d make me angry, and you know what? Nothing would change. I’d still see him. Come on, when has anyone ever been able to coerce me into doing anything?”

The Sheriff’s jaw is set, his eyes hard as he stares his son down. Eventually, after what feels like an eternity, he says, “I don’t want to hear about this, I don’t want to know about this, I am going to pretend this isn’t happening.” He looks between Derek and Stiles. “Nothing is going to happen until he’s graduated, and if he ever, _ever,_ even looks like he’s not one hundred percent happy, I will not hesitate to arrest you.”

Derek nods, sharply, and the Sheriff throws him one more hard stare before storming out, leaving Stiles and Derek alone. They watch each other for a few moments, before Stiles clears his throat, and says, “I should probably…” he gestures over his shoulder, still looking at Derek. “I can’t believe…I’ll call you later, okay?”

Derek nods dumbly, is still struggling to process what just happened, and then Stiles is darting towards him, and saying, “I know I shouldn’t, but,” and he presses a quick kiss to Derek’s lips. It’s the first time they’ve kissed since they agreed to wait, and all Derek can do is watch helplessly as Stiles turns and leaves.

He drops back down into his seat, presses his fingers to his lips, and wonders what the hell just happened.

-

“Did your dad… did he _agree not to arrest me?_ Or is that all just a dream I had?”

_“I’m kinda in shock too. I’m sorry, I left my phone unattended for like ten seconds. Guy’s a ninja.”_

“It’s okay – what messages did he see?”

_“The ones from Christmas – I know we’re supposed to delete them, but-“_

“I kept those one too – it’s all right.”

_“Two peas in a ridiculous pod, right?”_

“Yep. How did he know they were from me?”

 _“Get this: he ran a check on your fucking number. So illegal. We could get_ him _arrested for that.”_

Derek snorts. “Good luck with that.” He shifts on the couch, takes a sip of his drink. “How was he when you got back?”

_“Not happy. He really doesn’t like you. I’m already working on damage control, but we’ve got some serious groundwork to make up when I graduate.”_

“Stiles, listen. I don’t want to come between you and your dad, okay? Family’s important, and he’s right, what we’re doing is technically wrong.”

 _“I’m getting so bored of having this conversation with you. If you want out then that’s fine, but don’t come up with bullshit excuses that we’ve already decided are ridiculous. And don’t worry about my dad. He doesn’t hate me, isn’t kicking me out. I’m not_ losing _him or anything.”_

Derek hums, thoughtfully, and then Stiles continues. _“Besides, not long till graduation. Soon he won’t have anything to complain about.”_

“I guarantee you that he will absolutely still complain. I’m still twice your age.”

_“Not anymore, not now I’m eighteen. Hey, when’s your birthday anyway?”_

“Um, Christmas.”

_“Woah, what? Seriously? Why didn’t you say anything?”_

Derek shrugs, even though he knows Stiles can’t see it. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

_“Dude, not cool. I should have got you a present!”_

“You sort of did. Those messages make me very happy.”

_“Aww, you old sap. Look at us, two sappy saps.”_

“Remind me how you’re doing in English again?”

_“Shhhhh, Der-bear, so not relevant.”_

“We definitely agreed we were never going to call me that again.”

_“I made an executive decision. It feels right.”_

“I could always start calling you by your real name, you know.”

_“…You wouldn’t dare.”_

-

Laura’s sitting across from him at the café, stirring her coffee idly, and she says, “So, there’s someone I think you should meet.”

Derek clenches his jaw, doesn’t really appreciate Laura trying to set him up with strangers when she knows he’s still, really, with Stiles. “Laura,” he warns.

“Her name’s Braeden, and she’s so great. She’s feisty, funny, a total knockout. She’d be really good for you.”

“Why are you doing this? You know how things are with me and Stiles.”

“Yes, Derek, I’m completely aware that you’re in some kind of strange relationship with your student. Kind of hard for me to forget. But I don’t think you should be. I honestly thought you’d both have moved on by now.”

“Doesn’t that show you how serious this is? It’s not going away.” He sinks into his chair. “His dad found out.”

Laura’s eyes bug in her head. “What? What the fuck? How are you alive right now?”

Derek sighs. “Stiles said nothing…physical had happened. That if he did anything to me, it would just make him resent him, we’d still stay together anyway. I’m not sure. I kinda struggled to take it all in.”

“Let me get this straight: the Sheriff of Beacon Hills found out that his teenage son is in a relationship with his thirty-five year old teacher, and he neither arrested you nor reported you to the Principal? What the hell kind of Sheriff is this guy?”

“He wasn’t happy or anything. I think he just doesn’t want to risk losing Stiles. Although I don’t think he ever would. Stiles’ dad means the world to him.”

“Do you think he’ll ever be okay with it?”

Derek shrugs, sighs, pushes cake crumbs around the plate with his fork. “I have no idea, honestly. I sure hope so. Christmas will be awkward if he never is.”

“You’re really in this for the long-haul, aren’t you?”

“Laura, do you actually think I’d start up a relationship with my student for a fling?”

She shakes her head. “No. Although it never even crossed my mind that something like this might happen.”

Derek huffs. “You and me both. You gotta know I never would have planned anything like this. But I can’t walk away, not now. I’m so in over my head with him.”

“Oh, baby bro,” Laura says, patting his hand patronizingly. “Love makes fools of us all.”

“Boy does it love making a fool out of me.”

Laura eyes him, carefully, and asks, “You still don’t blame yourself for what happened with Kate, do you?”

“Laura...”

“I’m serious. Because she was insane, and you shouldn’t. And I don’t want what happened with her to ruin this thing with Stiles.”

Derek snorts. “You’re in support of this now?”

“I didn’t like it. Still don’t, really. But god, you’ve been happier this last eight months than you’ve been for the last eighteen years. And I didn’t speak to Stiles for very long, but if what you’ve told me about him is true, there’s no way he’d stick around if he wasn’t one hundred percent happy. Is this how I would have chosen you to be happy? No. Do I worry about how it’s all going to play out? Of course. But you’re my brother, I’ll always love you, and I want you to be happy, above all else.”

Derek doesn’t well up, but a lump does threaten to make its way up his throat, and he reaches out to hold onto Laura’s hand. “Thank you. That was sappy as hell, but thanks.”

She smiles at him and says, “You’re welcome. But I need to meet Stiles properly, soon. I want to get to know the kid who my brother is risking his livelihood for.”

“What a fun day that will be.”

She winks. “Don’t you forget it.”

-

A week before graduation, while Derek is grading papers in his classroom, Stiles saunters in, hands in his pockets, and stands before his desk, rocking lightly on his heels. “Soooooo.....” he says, and Derek arches an eyebrow.

“So?” he asks.

“My dad wants you to come round for dinner. Like, tomorrow night.”

Derek’s heart jumps. “What? Why? Is he planning to kill me?”

Stiles shakes his head. “We’ve been talking more, about this,” he gestures between them. “I think he’s trying to understand. And so he wants to meet you.”

“That sounds pretty terrifying.”

Stiles shrugs. “Actually, I think it’s a step in the right direction. I think it might be a deal breaker if you don’t, as well.”

“Right. Okay then. What time?”

“Seven-thirty.”

Derek nods. “What should I...how should I....what would you suggest for not getting killed?”

Stiles laughs, and god, it makes Derek’s heart sing. Even with everything, it’s so wonderful to see Stiles smile. “Don’t mention the sex. Talk about how you never once thought about me in that way before the diner. Bring apple pie, if you can. I’m letting him eat burgers tonight, so that should put him in a slightly better mood anyway. I’m not sure, man, this is the first time I’ve ever brought anyone home, let alone my teacher.”

Derek rolls his eyes, because, _obviously._

“I won’t let him crucify you. If it gets too much you can just leave, I’ll handle it.”

Derek shakes his head. “It’ll be fine. I mean, I’ll try to make it fine. If me getting my balls ripped off by your dad helps to convince him that this isn’t, y’know, terrible? I’ll try.”

Stiles smiles, ducks his head. “Man I want to kiss you right now,” he says.

“Better not,” Derek smiles, and suddenly he’s not so worried anymore.

-

The worry comes back as he’s stepping onto the Stilinski’s porch, apple pie in hand, best shirt on over his smartest jeans. He falters for a few moments before pressing the doorbell, and he sneaks a glance at his watch. 7:27. Good.

He ignores his churning stomach as the door opens, and he breathes a sigh of relief when it’s Stiles on the other side.

“Hey!” Stiles smiles brightly, gesturing for him to come in. Derek steps into the house, and Stiles leads him in. “The kitchen is just through here. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine, seriously.”

Derek nods dumbly, steps behind him into the kitchen where the Sheriff is stood by the stove. He turns when they step in, hits Derek with a hard gaze, before saying, “Let me get one thing clear: I’m not happy about this. I’m not sure I’ll ever really be happy about it. But I believe Stiles when he says that this, whatever _this_ is, was two sided. I know how headstrong he is. And so long as you don’t make a habit of forming intimate relationships with your underage students, then I’m willing to listen.”

Derek nods, and says, “I never meant for this to happen. I...fought with myself for a long time. I wouldn’t have even...said anything, unless...Stiles...I care for him a great deal. My intentions are honest.”

The Sheriff watches him steadily, and says, “Alright. Put the pie in the refrigerator and help Stiles lay the table.”

Derek does, tentatively avoiding making contact with Stiles, who says, “That genuinely felt like an Austen novel. So awkward, guys, you gotta work on your conversation skills.”

Derek rolls his eyes and sends a prayer vaguely upwards; if he doesn’t make it through, Stiles is sure as hell getting nothing in his will.

-

It’s somehow okay, in the end. It’s not fun, or anything, it’s awkward as hell, and Derek spends the whole evening trying not to breathe wrong, but there’s even a laugh or two, and he leaves the Stilinski’s thinking that maybe, just maybe, they’ll be okay.

(He only just remembers not to kiss Stiles on the way out. It’s a near thing.)

When he gets home, he texts Stiles immediately. _How did you make your dad not hate me. How did you get him to be okay with you dating your teacher???_

_I’m not entirely sure. I guess when you overplay the celibacy it seems better to him???? Also apparently I’ve been waaaaay nicer to live with since we started_

_I can relate._

There’s a pause before he gets Stiles’ reply through. _Soooo....graduation next week?_

_So I’ve been told_

_Can I come over?_

_Are you not doing anything with your dad?_

_We’re going for a meal, but he already said like ‘I assume you’ll be staying with mr hale after’ and when I didn’t say anything he was just like ‘don’t tell me any details’, sooooo_

_You should stay with your dad, come to mine like the day after. Family’s important_

_No shit. But sure, I can do that. Wanna stay on his good side, huh?_

_He has guns. I’m not an idiot._

_I don’t remember you caring when you were despoiling my nubile teenage body_

_Please please please delete that message_

_Whatever you want, baby ;)_

-

Derek is waiting anxiously in his house the day after graduation fiddling with the hems of his sleeves, when the doorbell rings at half past four. Stiles is on the other side, obviously, gazing at him through those thick eyelashes, and Derek’s breath catches.

Stiles smiles, awkwardly, says, “It was good, waiting till today. My dad appreciated it, I think.”

Derek nods, says, “Good,” and then Stiles steps in and collapses into Derek, and all Derek can do is hold on while he and Stiles fall apart together.

It’s like the first time and every time after, a heady rush of heat and hope, and Derek falls in.

-

“Are you happy?” Stiles asks, after, his chin resting on Derek’s chest, loose limbed and sleepy.

Derek runs a hand down Stiles’ back, rests it in that dip above his behind, and pulls him close.

“I’m not ready to go announcing everything to the school board yet but, yeah. I am.” He leans to press a kiss to Stiles’ head. “Are you?”

Stiles laughs, a rumble against Derek’s chest, before sliding up him and resting his forehead against Derek’s. “I’m on top of the world.”

\----

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you're not convinced I'm a terrible human being, I am (predictably) on tumblr -> [slowunsteady](http://slowunsteady.tumblr.com) Come say hi!


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